The Capitol Games
by Subject Matter
Summary: The rebels have won. Life in the Capitol is forever changed. 14-year-old Brier Sandalwood is thrust into the final Hunger Games, where he is forced to kill his own Capitol friends. Will he survive? This is my first fic. BEWARE! Blood, Gore, etc.
1. Brier Sandalwood

The Capitol Games

_Summary: The rebels have won. Life in the Capitol is forever changed. 14-year-old Brier Sandalwood is thrust into the final Hunger Games, where he is forced to kill his own Capitol friends. With the training his District 12 mother has secretly given him, will he survive?_

**A/N: Congrats! You are reading my first fan fiction. I sincerely hope it will be a good one, and please review and comment on any things I need to change. If you have negative comments, I accept criticism, but not flames. It isn't a SYOT, but suggestions are always helpful. To the story!**

**Disclaimer: As much as I would love to own the Hunger Games, I have no way to claim it for myself. I begged but they won't answer my pleas.**

Chapter 1: Brier Sandalwood

_Blood splatters on the leaf strewn ground. I feel a sharp pain in my stomach and I realize it's my blood. I struggle against my killers arms wrapped around my shoulders, as more and more blood spurts out of my wound, dying my starch white shirt crimson. As I turn to see my killer, the pain is too much and, as I slip into the blissful darkness of death, my father's eyes fill with hatred and he flicks his wrist, plunging the knife through my abdomen, hilt and all._

I woke up with a cold sheen of sweat covering my skin. I tried to get the image of my father killing me out of my mind, but like a fly on flypaper, I couldn't forget about it. I quickly run my hands over my front, checking for knife wounds or any other gaping holes in my body. Happy to be whole and completely un-Swiss cheese like, I head to my bathroom. But, before I could cross the doorway, the fright of today hit me like one of the trains that carry supplies from the Districts. Today, I participate in the first reaping for the Capitol. Today, my name is raffled for a death call.

Once in the bathroom, I peeled the carpeting back and grabbed my most cherished possession, a short blade with a soft grip of foam. I looked up at the mirror as I carefully placed the knife on my bed made of downy feathers. I quickly checked the mirror, and I took stock of my slate-gray eyes, rimmed with shadows from my distressful night. My mom never let me change my hair or skin color, so I was left with a boring complexion and jet-black hair. _I wish my mom were here,_ I thought. _She could help me prepare for this day._ Living in the Capitol, you'd think I'd be like all of my other 'friends', pompous and plump. Thankfully, when she was alive, my mom grounded me from being all the things I now hated. She herself was from District 12, and, for some reason, my dad fell in love. She wasn't initially attracted to his Capitol accent and his bubblegum hair, but, with the money of the Head Peacemaker, he went back to looking like he originally did before the Capitol ways took hold of him. Slowly, their relationship flourished and I was created. I am assuming you know how babies are made. I sincerely hope I won't have to go into gruesome detail.

Thinking of my mother like this hit me with a pang, and I quickly turned to the more pressing matter of my own possible death. I chose a boring outfit of the rattiest clothes I could that didn't remind me of my mom. I started to head downstairs towards breakfast when I hesitated. I walked backwards to my bed and grabbed my knife by the grip. I slipped the blade into my sleeve, and the feeling of the cool blade pressed against the skin of my arm comforted me. Satisfied, I headed down stairs and stepped into the glamorous kitchen. My dad was already sitting at the table, being served by an Avox. He didn't even care that I might be selected to die later today, or that his execution was scheduled for next week. I never cared for my father, who, after mom's death, reverted back to his pink, swirled hair. _"You must fit in to be noticed in our world," _I remembered bitterly, _"or you will never be accepted." _I thank the gods again I am normal.

"Are you worried about the reaping today, son?" My dad's metallic voice rumbled. After multiple plastic surgeries were used to make him look younger, his vocal cords were partially severed, and he had a metal contraption fitted to his throat. _Talk about fitting in._ I gave a noncommittal shrug, and continued to eat my modest amount of Mockingjay eggs. I always liked the specific brand of muttations, for they mimicked my mom's soft voice when she sang songs every time, out in the forest where we could get away from the world. In this forest, she taught me how to fight. With the short, steel blade she smuggled when she snuck away from District 12, she showed me every kill move in the book, if there was one.

"Always go for the kill, Brier, because if you need to use any knives, someone is trying to KILL you." My mother had said, as she swiped the knife through the air, as if she was being attacked.

"Don't even think about telling your father. He would execute us both in a heartbeat." She took a vicious slash at a tree, which left deep gorge marks in the tree. Every time I think of those words she had said, I remember with a stab of a gut wrenching loss that this is exactly what my father did do.

It all happened in the middle of night, when I was just 10-years-old. The marching of boots woke me, and they were coming towards our house. I blearily called for my mother, and she frantically walked up the stairs to my bedroom. She shushed me gently, and shut the door silently. She tiptoed down the stairs, and I could hear the front door frame shatter.

"Honey!" My dad's fake voice travelled up the stairs, dripping with false cheerfulness. "Some one is here to see you!" I heard a rushing sound, and the sound of feet stomping on the wooden slates of our floor rebounded through the house.

"You are under arrest!" I heard a harsh male voice scream. "For illegal immigration, and threats to rebel against the Capitol!" I heard my mother scream **NO!** And I could picture my mom, as she prepared to fight. She must have armed herself with kitchen knives, because the sound of painful shrieking ripped through the house. I rushed down the stairs to silently watch what was going on. More men rushed in, and in a flash, my dad had one of his shotguns ripped off the wall. In a blinding flash emitted from the barrel, my father shot a barrage of bullets towards my mom. Her red blood flowed through the holes ripped through her blouse, and I watched, transfixed, as my mom's life slipped away. Cackling, my father and his men left to go to a bar. I rushed to my mom, and I held her hand as tears poured down both of our faces.

"Br-i…" She moaned out, calling me by my nickname. " I, I want you t-t-t-t-to have this. Keep it and re, remember me-" She stopped for a raspy breath, as she thrust her blade hilt-first towards me. "Th-this is yours now, keep it, and always… survive… for…. me…" Her chest deflated and her eyelids fluttered shut, and my mother was no more.

The loud clash of the bells within the clock tower indicating 3 o'clock jarred me from my depressing thoughts. One Avox rushed me out the door, and pointed towards the central square. I swallowed the fear and bile that rose to my throat. And walked at a brisk pace towards the square. _The reaping is finally here,_ I thought with fear in my heart, _and I am ready for it._

**A/N: How was it? Was it too long? Two short? Please review! Reviews are my blood, and I need a transfusion **_**STAT!**_


	2. Running Late

Chapter 2 - Running Late

**A/N: It was a long time to wait, I know, but it was worth it! This chapter has been literally abandoned in my writing notebook, and when I tried to write more, I drew a blank. But, anyway, here is the second installment of the **_**Capitol Games**_**!**

**P.S. I'll be utilizing the *** to stimulate a break in time or a page break. I don't know whether it'll be useful for this chapter or not but, still.**

I was running late for the Reaping, but I didn't care. The 'kindhearted' rebels wouldn't harm children, unless you call a death sentence harmful. _It's not as if what we did was just_, I thought, my headache throbbing to the beat of my heart, _It just doesn't make sense for them to do it to us, after the heartache it caused them._

The road I was walking on was once a gleaming representation of exactly how much control the Capitol had, but now lay in ruin. The bullet-laced cobblestones lay in dismal piles of staggering height, arranged so that the common walker wouldn't stumble and trip over stray pieces. No matter how much scrubbing was utilized, the bloodstains and burn marks were showing up through the concrete foundation. I warily stepped around a misplaced arm, wondering vaguely what the owner did to deserve his appendage removal.

I started running past the boarded windows and fallen doors, for the announcements were starting. From the center of our Shopping District, the voice of someone sickeningly familiar rang out. When I came into view of the crowd, it struck me that those as young as twelve will be putting their lives against others. Although this has always been a brutal fact about the Games, but it was much more horrible when you realize that those dying are your own friends and family. Will I be forced to become a killer? I shooed the thought away.

It struck me how right it was for the rebels to, well, _rebel_. Being forced to lose two members of your community is horrible, especially if you know and like those stolen. Even if one comes back, the victor, they are changed, and the victor lives in their very own village, separated from those still common.

I joined my age group, ignoring the stares of officials and peers alike. It took me awhile to realize it, but these were my, well, not necessarily _friends_, but acquaintances required to know by the upper-class men. Their stricken looks surprised me, and I strained my neck to see my best friend, Sparkle, looking uncomfortable in the section for girls. I still snigger at her name, and the fact of that is enough to force her to make me refer to her as Maddy, the given name of all the women in her family.

She looked through her golden curls over to me, her eyes filled with a passion, her mouth set in a grim line. She somehow new that we wouldn't be walking home together. When I saw the pale sheen of sweat glistening across her forehead, I made a comforting gesture.

Besides her name, Sparkle is the most down to earth, normal girl in the Capitol. Her golden hair fell far past her shoulders, resting halfway to her elbow. Her green eyes scanned the crowds, lingering on the speaker. I don't know how, but she somehow lacked the pompous Capitol accent. She wore normal clothing, while the silly girls around her were wearing diamond studded dresses and truckloads of that awful powder christened makeup. Tears tracked across the faces of most of those girls, and they sobbed quietly into their handkerchiefs, regarding their idol from the past two Games with more tears.

My attention was drawn back to the raised platform, where _he _was continuing to speak, leaning heavily on a simple cane.

"It is with pain to announce the final Hunger Games, where a sudden twist of tributes is occurring as we speak." Peeta Mellark announced to the silent crowd, his cool eyes giving away a trace of… fear? I missed a larger part of his speech as I looked past him, expecting to see the girl wonder supporting him.

"Although it was _not_ my idea to put you people through this," His voice became acidic at 'people'. "I must say, let the odds be _ever_ in your favor."

A small murmur brushed through the crowds, everyone astounded by the shocking reference from Effie, the well known representative of the second district to be blown out of Panem.

Peeta continued, "I will be your host of these Games, strictly for the _enjoyment_ of the Capitol." He spat this sentence out, and reached for the glass orb holding the name of every girl in our section of the Capitol. When he withdrew the single piece of paper, a girl in the seventeen section burst into hysterics, mumbling on and on about how 'unfair' this was. A few rebel guards walked over to her, shushing her until she relapsed into silent tears.

Peeta's look of disdain towards the girl wasn't lost to me, and I felt a burst of unexplained anger in my chest. _It isn't his right to treat us like trash, no matter how bad his torture was!_ This thought bounced around my head, and I almost didn't catch the name of the girl who's life would end right now.

"Sparkle, Sparkle Blackthorn."

I stood there, shocked, my mouth gaping at my best friend. _I thought it would be me being sentenced to death, not her!_ My plan didn't account for this detail. But, in my heart, I knew that she was the best survivor here, better than me, than Peeta. But, this interfered with everything. I _had _to be reaped! Her mouth was open in a silent 'o', but her eyes held a fierce determination, not wavered by this minor inconvenience. She stepped to the platform, not meeting my eyes.

"Devin Cranberry." Peeta spoke to the crowd, his hand crutching the slip of paper from the boy's orb, and I saw one of my few 12-year-old friends burst into tears, and the words slipped out of my mouth like a slippery snake, and it was exactly _not_ what I expected.

"I volunteer." The crowd stared at me, wondering if I left a piece of my insanity at home. I knew that Sparkle would absolutely kill me later, but I had a reason. _And it is not because I have a bit of infatuation for her, _A small voice butted in my mind. I spoke my name at his inquiry, thinking how he didn't deserve to know either my or Sparkle's names.

I stepped from my spot within the ranks of the other boys, stepping up to the platform and sitting next to Sparkle.

"Sparkle, I'll talk to you about it _later_." I murmured in her ear, knowing that is exactly what she wanted to do right now. I tuned out Peeta's conclusion, and focused on not letting the tears form in my eyes. I was a contender in the Capitol Games, and there is not a thing I can change. I was sure my dad would yell and scream for the final goodbyes, but he didn't understand the need to prove my mother right, about how I was not just a Capitol blob. And I had the perfect way to do it.


End file.
